The Orteig Prize
by Indy393
Summary: It's 1927, and Deryn Sharp is one of the most famous pilots in America. But can she make a solo trans-Atlantic flight before Charles Lindbergh? And without giving Alek a heart attack?
1. Change of Plan

"So, how goes the stunt piloting?" called Alek into the telephone.

"It's always brilliant. I've nearly died a couple times this week, but there you are," replied Deryn, her voice barely audible.

"What happened?" cried Alek, his voice changing from amused to concerned in a heartbeat.

"That idiot Lindbergh keeps almost crashing into me."

Alek sighed. Charles Lindbergh, another stunt pilot, had rubbed Deryn the wrong way almost as soon as she arrived in America. He didn't discriminate against Deryn because of her gender, as some of the other pilots had. Instead, he "acts all up himself for no apparent reason," according to Deryn. After nearly a year of piloting on the circuit, Deryn had won over most of the other pilots, but not Lindbergh.

At the beginning of that year, Deryn had suddenly announced that she was taking one of Alek's "Barking Clanker machines" to America to work as a stunt pilot. Supposedly, the trip had been to advertise the aeroplanes Alek was building and selling (he couldn't just sit back and do nothing, now that the Empire had dissolved), and that Deryn was testing.

The trip hadn't gone exactly as planned. For one thing, it was only supposed to last four months. Four months had turned into six, and six into ten, until Deryn decided she couldn't possibly leave, not when she was rolling into much success.

That was the other unplanned consequence. Deryn had quickly made a name for herself, if not for Chotek Aeroplanes, on the stunt circuit. Since her departure in January 1926, she and Alek had seen each other only a handful of times. He had visited her on her birthday in a place called Chicago, then again three months later in New York City. Over Christmas, she had come home to Glasgow, and they finally become engaged. She had promised that she would only stay in America until May, and then she would come home to Europe.

Alek knew better than to try and force Deryn home before she was ready. So he had waited patiently, and now, after almost a year and a half, she was making plans to come home.

"That idiot actually makes me want to leave the circuit, he's so barking annoying! He keeps blithering on about how the almost-crashes are all _my_ fault, because he's a bleeding…"

"Deryn, if you let that man send you home early…"

"I thought you'd _like_ the idea of me coming home early."

"You can come home _after_ you show him you're superior piloting skills. Just a suggestion."

"Alek, you are wonderful. That's just what I wanted you to say."

"Really?" said Alek, apprehension leaking into his voice.

"Are you… planning on staying longer?" he stammered.

He wouldn't just say, "yes" this time. This time he had to tell her that he _needed_ her home. That she could just as easily pilot in Europe as in America. That he didn't want to wait to get married anymore. He would even bring up the expense of canceling boat tickets, if he had to.

"Don't be daft! I'm still coming home early!" she laughed.

"But your ship doesn't leave for another two months."

"I'm still leaving in about two months. Except I'll be arriving in Paris, not Liverpool."

"Paris? Most liners go to Cherbourg, not Paris. Unless you're planning on taking a river cruise up the Seine."

"I'm not taking a liner, exactly. I'm taking the _Glasgow Cross_."

Alek was silent for a moment. The _Glasgow_ _Cross_ was the name of her aeroplane.

"God's wounds, Deryn, you're planning on _flying_ across the Atlantic."

* * *

><p><strong>I just couldn't imagine Deryn calmly going back to dresses and tea parties after all of her Air Service adventures, so I made her a stunt pilot, and a serious contender for the first trans-Atlantic solo flight.<strong>

**Charles Lindbergh worked as a trick pilot for a short time, and he won the Orteig prize in 1927. **

**Anyway, please review! I tend to get frustrated with my longer fics, and usually give up halfway through, but I am resolved to finish this one!**


	2. Rivalry

"You've decided to fly across the Atlantic," stammered Alek.

The world seemed to move beneath his feet. No one had attempted to make the flight, even with the allure of a $25,000 cash prize, courtesy of French hotel owner Raymond Orteig. True, there were rumors that several pilots, mainly French and American, were preparing to try and earn the Orteig Prize, but Alek had dismissed most of it as talk. There were too many things that could go wrong.

No one was stupid enough to fly across the Atlantic now. No one, of course, except his fiancée.

"Of course, you _dumkopf_!" said Deryn.

"But you could _die_."

"I'm not going to die."

"Of course you don't plan on dying. But there are so many different things that could go so horribly _wrong_. The weight of all that fuel, the possibility that you won't have enough fuel, getting caught in a storm, mechanical malfunctions…"

"Are you saying I can't do it?" accused Deryn, her voice steeled with indignation.

"I know better than to even _think_ that."

Deryn didn't reply. For a moment, Alek feared that their connection had been lost, or, worse, that she had hung up on him. He was relieved, however, to hear Deryn mumbling curse words to herself, mixed in with the name "Lindbergh".

"Are you still there?" Alek asked.

"Aye."

"Then can I ask you a question?"

"Aye."

"Is Charles Lindbergh going to try and fly across the Atlantic?"

Deryn hesitated, but finally admitted that he was.

"Deryn, you don't need to prove anything to anyone, especially not Lindbergh. You're a decorated war hero; you're a famous pilot. You've already more than proved yourself."

"But I don't just want to _stop_! Don't you see? I need to prove to myself that I can do it!" she cried, switching to German. There must have been another pilot around.

"You are the most self—confident person I know. This whole proving it to yourself story is pure clart, and you know it!"

"So what if it is! I can do whatever I barking want to, even if you don't like it _your highness_."

Alek bit down a nasty reply. She hadn't called him by any sort of title in years, at least not since Austria—Hungary had broken apart, and the monarchy had been abolished.

"I would hope that you would at least _consider_ my opinion before you decide to get yourself killed! Does the fact that we're engaged mean nothing to you?"

"Just because we're engaged doesn't mean you have the right to tell me what to do!"

"I never assumed I had that right! Who said it was okay that you kept extending your American tour? _I _did, even though I hated being away from you all the time. I said it didn't bother me because you claimed you were _blissfully happy_!"

"Alek, I promised to come back, you know that!"

Here it was Alek's turn to be silent. He had never doubted Deryn was faithful to him. He knew she loved him, maybe almost as much as he loved her. But did she love him enough to leave America? Even if she started performing stunts in Europe, she would never be as free as she was in America. Especially when it became common knowledge that she was engaged, and would eventually be married to, the former Archduke of Austria—Hungary.

"Alek, I always planned to come home. It's just that I love what I'm doing here! I've never felt freer in my life. There isn't even duty to hold me down, or orders," said, her voice slightly softer.

"You can do the same thing in Europe."

"And you can still build aeroplanes in America."

"I can't leave Europe, _schatzen_. _We_ can't leave Europe, at least not forever. Volger will never leave Switzerland, nor will Hoffman or Bauer. They're the only family I have left."

Alek thought of the three surviving men who had kept him alive during the war. All now lived in or around Zurich, Switzerland, and Alek had divided his time between the city and Glasgow ever since the war had ended.

"And you have family here, too," he continued.

"Aye, a family that would like to see me in dresses and pearls."

"You have been out of touch with fashion. It's quite in vogue for women to wear trousers. Pearls, I think, I still quite fashionable."

"I must have started a trend."

Alek chuckled.

"Alek, I'm sorry if I've worried you. And I'm sorry if what I'm going to do is going to make you even more worried. But I _am_ going to fly across the Atlantic."

"I guess the only question is whether I'll agree to help you or not?"

"Aye."

"Well, you're going to have to make some modifications to the _Glasgow Cross_. I'll telephone Keller. You two should be able to fix it up."

"Thank you, Alek," said Deryn. Alek could just imagine a smile spreading over her face.

"Whatever gets you home safely. And, of course, whatever helps you to put Lindbergh in his place. When's your next show?"

"In about ten minutes. And don't worry, I will. Goodbye, Alek. I love you."

"Ich liebe dich, Deryn," replied Alek, before hanging up.

* * *

><p><strong>Keller is the engineer that travels with Deryn and fixes her plane after each show. We'll see a bit more of her later. Please review!<strong>


	3. Blackmail

"Monsieur Orteig, _please_ hear us out," pleaded Alek, leaning forward in his leather armchair.

He and Deryn was sitting in the New York office of French-American hotel owner Raymond Orteig, the man who was offering a $25,000 prize for the first pilot, or team of pilots, to fly non-stop from New York to Paris; the flight that Deryn was going to attempt in less than two months. When Alek had telephoned M. Orteig almost a week ago to arrange the meeting, the businessman had sounded enthusiastic about Alek's plans to sponsor a flight. Enthusiastic, of course, until he met the pilot.

"I am afraid there is nothing to discuss," said Monsieur Orteig, leaning backwards in his chair and lighting a cigar. "I will not have a woman die in pursuit of my prize. You are a businessman, Mr. Chotek. Think what that will do for my hotels."

"I am _not_ going to die over a thirty—hour flight! And, in case you haven't noticed, my piloting has sent Chotek Aeroplanes stocks soaring!" spat Deryn, gripping the sides of her armchair.

"Although I am sure your skills are sufficient enough for short stunt tricks, Miss Sharp, I doubt someone like _you_ has the physical stamina to endure such a long flight," replied Orteig, standing up and walking about the room.

Deryn seriously thought about giving him a black eye. He was a short, pudgy man with a rather large moustache. She was three or four inches taller than him, easily.

"I spent five years in the Royal Air Service, and was one of the most highly decorated officers! Do _not_ tell me I don't have the _stamina_ to break this record!"

"_Bitte, _Deryn," whispered Alek, purposefully changing to German.

"Well, what was I supposed to say?" cried Deryn sharply, her Glaswegian accent showing.

"I think that it's time to be a little less diplomatic," said Alek, leaning back in his chair. "It's time to bring our friend in."

Deryn smiled maliciously.

"Monsieur Orteig," continued Alek in English "I'm very sorry we are not able to see eye to eye."

"You're welcome to sponsor a plane, Mr. Chotek, but perhaps with a more suitable pilot."

"Oh, I will sponsor a plane. And Deryn Sharp is going to pilot it."

Orteig was silent for a moment, breathing in his cigar.

"Then she will not receive the prize."

"If I fly non—stop from New York to Paris, you _will_ award me the prize," said Deryn.

"You see, we're friends with a certain newspaper editor… Have you ever heard of Eddie Malone?" asked Alek.

Orteig started.

"The editor of _The New York World_?" he choked.

"Yes, he's an old friend of ours," said Alek "And he's told us some rather _interesting_ stories about you."

"Stories that make even me blush," said Deryn.

"What do you know?" said Orteig, his cigar midway to his mouth.

"Oh, the usual. Shady deals, some short cuts you take in your hotels…."

"And other more gritty stories that the tabloids would just _love_ to get their hands on."

"You're a businessman, Monsieur Orteig. Just think about what that would do to your hotels."

After a short pause, Orteig replied.

"Well, I suppose if you did complete the flight, it would generate a lot of positive publicity. Welcome to the race, Miss Sharp."

* * *

><p><strong>So we finally meet M. Orteig! I have no idea if he was really involved in shady deals, or if he possessed any of the not so charming qualities I've given him. I've taken historical license. Please review!<strong>

**Characters (c) Scott Westerfeld. (Except Orteig)**


	4. Reputations

"Well, that was fun," said Deryn, walking out of Monsieur Orteig's Fifth Avenue office. New York City bustled around her and Alek as they walked, hand in hand, down the street, past dozens of high-end shops and boutiques.

"I never knew blackmail was so satisfying. I'll have to tell Volger next time I see him," replied Alek.

"He'll be dead pleased that you finally listened to him."

"I think he'll be slightly horrified that I let you talk me into this."

"Serves him right for blackmailing me. We can have him talk with my ma. They can complain about how unladylike I am," she said, as she leaped over a puddle.

"When did you tell your ma about this mad plan of yours?"

"About three days ago, right before you arrived. She asked me how I could even _think_ about getting myself killed. "

"So she and I actually agree."

"Don't make a habit of it," and soft punch on Alek's arm accompanying the warning.

"I promise not to," said Alek, leading Deryn through the doors of the Plaza Hotel, his hotel of choice when staying in New York.

Deryn, of course, had always scoffed at the place. No matter how famous, or how much older, she got; she claimed she didn't feel right surrounded by all the luxury. When they had eaten lunch in the Palm Court yesterday, she had complained about how all the society ladies were "giving her a look". Alek too had felt the curious, and unkind, stares they were receiving, and had to agree with his fiancée.

Which is why they went through a side door near the elevators, and went straight up to his room, avoiding the lobby entirely. Room service for dinner, then.

"I could get used to this," said Deryn, after dinner. Alek was sitting on the plush couch in his suite, and Deryn was laying down, her head in Alek's lap.

"The Plaza?" asked Alek, surprised.

"No, just lying around on couches, _dummkopf_," she said sarcastically. "I mean, I could get used to everything going _right_. Me getting to do everything I've ever wanted to do without having to lie the whole time."

Alek considered this while playing with Deryn's short, yellow hair.

"Everything you've ever wanted? You've always wanted to fly across the Atlantic and worry your fiancée to death?" he said, smiling.

"Well, I never really pictured myself with a fiancée. Figured I would be too disreputable and all that."

"And having dinner alone with your fiancée in a hotel suite isn't disreputable?"

"I think it would only be disreputable if we hadn't ever been alone before."

"Well, you usually leave by nightfall, and now…" Alek trailed off, gesturing to the inky black sky through the window.

Deryn bolted out of Alek's lap and over to the window. Alek was disappointed. He had rather liked the way they were sitting, and the direction the conversation was going.

"You're not leaving already?" he asked.

But before he could even get an answer out of her, she had yanked the curtains closed, and was back over to the couch. She sat on his lap, and started kissing him like a madwoman. Not that he was complaining.

"No, I was thinking of staying for… " But she didn't finish her sentence.

"Aren't we supposed to _try_ not to ruin your reputation?" he asked, although not really believing in what he was saying.

She drew back suddenly.

"Aleksandar, I am flying across the Atlantic Ocean in less than a month. You're leaving in three days. This may be the last time we ever see each other."

"Don't even joke, Deryn, please..." but she cut him off with another kiss.

"We won't get any time alone until after I make the flight and give about a thousand interviews. "

"You'll be a huge celebrity."

"Huger than you."

But at this point the conversation ended for several minutes. Finally (they had to breathe sometime) Deryn whispered into Alek's ear.

"After Monsieur Orteig gives me the prize, you and I can sneak away for a few months and spend some time alone. Maybe on a beach in Greece? I hear they're lovely at the end of the summer."

"Like a honeymoon?" asked Alek, beaming.

"_Exactly_ like a honeymoon."

"Then Greece sounds wonderful."

* * *

><p><strong>Oh so much fluff. Nothing very serious. And a lot of dialogue. Please read and review!<strong>

**Disclaimer: I own neither of these characters. Scott Westerfeld does. **


	5. Not So Lucky Lindy

"Miss Sharp!" called a voice over the din of landing aeroplanes. Deryn had just finished her last show ever on the American Stunt Circuit.

Deryn turned her head, and saw tall, wiry Charles Lindbergh striding over to her, his piloting gloves off and his goggles pushed up on his head.

"What is it, Lindy?" she asked, using the nickname the other pilots had given him.

"I was just wondering if you're really going to go through with it," he said, a wry smile appearing on his face.

"If by _it_ you mean fly across the Atlantic Ocean, then yes, I am going to go through with it," she said, contempt marking every word.

"And you plan to leave when?"

"You know very well when I'm planning to leave. It's been all over the papers for the past few weeks hasn't it, you bum—rag?"

"Just because most of the other pilots feel the need to curse, Miss Sharp, it does not mean you should do the same. I of course, don't curse around you out of courtesy."

"I can say whatever I barking want to. This country of yours is free, isn't it?"

"So, Saturday, then?"

"Yes, Saturday," Deryn sighed, rolling her eyes.

"Well, I'll be in New York as well for the next few days. In fact, I think we might be taking the same train."

"I'm flying to New York, you ninny. And don't think for a minute I'll have time to meet you in New York"

"Still, I'm sure you wouldn't object to what I have to offer. It really takes very little time."

"If you're done, I'd like to go see my engineer now," said Deryn, clearly not listening.

"I would be very honored if you'd have dinner with me, Miss Sharp."

Deryn froze, looking at Lindbergh, and narrowing her eyes.

"What are you blathering about?"

"I'm saying, Miss Sharp, that you impress me, despite your coarseness. Perhaps we can discuss more of your admirable traits over dinner? We really have a lot in common, you know."

Deryn fought the urge to both laugh, and to sock Lindbergh in the face. The other pilot was completely serious, however, if not a bit hopeful looking. Kind of like Alek whenever he tried to convince her to go to the theatre.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Lindbergh, but I'm engaged," she said, relishing the look of shock on his face.

"Oh, um, well then. Forgive me, Miss Sharp. I… I wish you the best of luck on your endeavor," said Lindbergh, blushing and rushing away.

Deryn shook her head, and then climbed into her plane. If she was going to make it to New York City before nightfall, she had to get moving.

* * *

><p><strong>He may be lucky when it comes to crossing the Atlantic, but not so much when it comes to wooing Deryn Sharp! Sorry it's a short chapter, but the next two or three will be nice and long. I need to wrap this story up before summer ends. <strong>

**Thank you for all the reviews and alerts! And Leviathan Series (c) Scott Westerfeld.**


	6. No Turning Back

Deryn Sharp got up at five o'clock on a breezy, cool mid -May morning. From her hotel window, she could see Roosevelt Airfield, where, in just a few short hours, she would be embarking on her (hopefully) record breaking trans-Atlantic flight.

Confident though she was, Deryn woke up with a slight case of nerves. She ate the high-protein breakfast she had ordered, even though it wasn't much. Over the past month, she had been conditioning herself for this flight, making sure her body was used to as little food as possible. She had to stay alert and focused for almost two whole days, and couldn't afford to fumble with a lot of food. Or weigh down her plane with provisions, for that matter.

Her plane, the _Glasgow Cross_, had undergone extensive modifications in order to survive the transatlantic flight. Deryn's engineer, a clever American named Annie Keller, had spent hours with Alek when he had visited, discussing everything from increasing the fuel capacity to adjusting the propeller.

And there was Keller, just coming down from her own hotel room, and taking a seat at Deryn's table. She was short and as straight as a stick, and always seemed to have engine grease in her brown hair, or under her fingernails. Today, however, she had cleaned herself up. Even her overalls were freshly washed.

"So, how do you feel today?" she asked, taking a long drink of black coffee. There were dark circles under her eyes, making her brown eyes pop out against her pale face.

"Brilliant," replied Deryn, smiling. Now that her stomach was satisfied, she felt much better.

"Did you get a decent amount of sleep? I was up all night worrying about our fuel calculations, so I decided to look them over… again. Got the same answer I always have. You'll have fuel to spare, just in case you get lost."

"I won't get lost. I've practically memorized the barking charts, haven't I?" said Deryn.

"Well, yes, there's always the possibility…" said Annie, taking another sip of coffee.

"You'll make it though, I know you will. And then you'll be a world—famous celebrity and forget all about your poor little engineer," she joked.

"I'll make sure to mention you in at least _some_ of my interviews," smiled Deryn, softly punching Annie on the arm.

"Or convince that fiancée of yours to give me a raise, more like. I like the idea of designing planes, and not just fixing them. Although, I'm doing a bit of both with this grand scheme of yours."

Deryn laughed, and the two women got up from their table, and walked over to the airfield.

Annie busied herself checking every single aspect of the _Cross_'s engine, and then moved on the inspecting all other parts of the plane. Deryn followed her around, occasionally spotting something that needed attention. Not that there were many problems. Annie had been practically sleeping in the hanger since they'd arrived in New York three days ago.

The sun was just beginning to rise as Deryn went into the airfield office washroom to adjust her flight jacket and goggles one last time. Going over everything she should have on her, she triple checked everything from her boots to her watch. Now would be the last time to add anything she'd forgotten.

When Deryn came out of the washroom, she found the manager of the airfield anxiously waiting for her, holding a brown telegram envelope in his right hand.

"This just arrived for you, Miss Sharp," he stammered, handing her the envelope.

"Thank you," said Deryn, and the man turned and walked away. Looking at the envelope, Deryn saw that the telegram was from Alek. She ripped it open, and quickly read and reread the message.

"Kommen Sie nach schnelles Paris so, wie Sie können, Schatz. Alle wir sind, die heier den besten Piloten in der Welt warten. Liebe, Alek"

_The best pilot in the world…._

Deryn folded up the telegram, and placed it in an empty jacket pocket.

Outside, reporters and photographers had gathered along the far edge of the airfield. Some spectators were also slowly starting to trickle in, the women's dresses whipping around in the breeze. Deryn could hear Annie yelling at some of the airfield workers to get the _Glasgow Cross_ fueled up, so she walked over to her engineer. Just to make sure she didn't make one of the attendants run away sobbing.

"I told you before, fill her up with as much gas as possible! And don't you dare touch those propellers! Do I have to do every bleeding thing myself?"

Annie turned around to look at Deryn as she approached the plane. Annie's overalls, which had been so clean just over two hours ago, were now stained and wrinkly.

"I think she's all ready to go as soon as she's fueled. You might as well go talk to that bunch," she said, glancing at the crowd of people.

Deryn nodded and walked over the band of reporters. As soon as she was within earshot, they began yelling and elbowing each other.

"Miss Sharp! Is it true that…"

"Miss Sharp, how long do you…"

"Miss Sharp, what if…"

Deryn stood answering questions for ten minutes, and then walked over to the _Cross_ and posed by the plane for photographers. After several shots of her shaking hands with the airfield owner, and with Annie, she climbed into her plane.

"You should have enough food to make it if you don't eat much. And your radio is working perfectly, so you can alert us if anything goes wrong," said Annie as Deryn strapped herself in.

"Nothing's going to go wrong."

"You're pretty heavy on fuel, so you'll want to pay special attention when you take off. It's a lot more weight than you're used to. Do you have your life jacket?"

"_Yes_," sighed Deryn. Normally Annie was a lot less concerned about the pilot, and more concerned about the plane.

"Are you ready to start her up?"

Deryn nodded, and carefully started up the _Cross._

"Good luck!" called Annie, closing the cockpit door and removing the wooden blocks in front of the wheels.

Farther down the runway, an airfield worker was directing her to takeoff. Deryn carefully taxied up to the long stretch of pavement, and then tried to give the _Cross_ as much speed as possible.

The runway became a black blur beneath her wheels, and Deryn felt her stomach jump just slightly as her wheels left the ground. She floundered a bit; the plane _was_ more heavy than she was used to. For a small moment, she was afraid of crashing back into the ground.

But just for a moment. Deryn righted herself, and turned the plane east, flying across Long Island and towards the gray Atlantic Ocean.

No turning back now.

* * *

><p><strong>Ah. A nice, long chapter after two short ones. I only have two chapters left, so I'll upload those together in a week or so. And I apologize if my german grammar is lacking. I relied on an online translator. Thank you for the reviews, they really do help me stay focused on this. :)<strong>

**Leviathan (c) Scott Westerfeld. Except Keller. Keller is of my own invention.**


	7. Waiting

**Hour Four**

_Took off at seven. Everything on plane perfect and working._

Alek sighed. Although he was thankful for the telegram Keller had sent him, he really wished that she would mention something about Deryn.

Even though it was far too soon, Alek looked out the window of his Paris hotel room, scanning the sky for any sign of Deryn's plane. It had only been four hours since she had taken off, and they had estimated the flight to take at least thirty hours.

He settled down in a chair, and tried to focus on a book. He failed.

**Hour Ten**

Deryn wasn't sure why she had never done this before. It was exhilarating, soaring high above the choppy, gray Atlantic Ocean, with no one yelling at her to feed bats or deliver breakfast to ungrateful counts.

She could hear bits of radio chatter from nearby ships, but tuned it all out so she could focus on her instruments. After nearly ten hours in the air, everything was still running smoothly, and the plane felt much lighter than when she had first taken off.

Once she got closer to Europe, she'd radio Alek. No point in making him worry.

**Hour Fifteen**

Alek was very worried. After almost fifteen hours into her flight, Deryn hadn't radioed him in Paris.

He sat by the wireless in his makeshift office, a cup of coffee in his hands, and his eyes threatening to shut. Whenever that happened, he would instantly shake himself awake, determined not to miss anything. On the other side of the room, Volger was listening to another wireless set. The voices, loud and obnoxious, were commentating on the likelihood of Deryn surviving. None of men were optimistic, mainly because Deryn was, well, a woman.

"Please turn that off, Count," snapped Alek.

**Hour Twenty**

She was more than halfway done her flight, and was starting to imagine that she could see the English Coast on the horizon. Of course she was being daft. It was way to early to be catching sight of land.

Sleep deprivation was starting to kick in. Her eyes would half close, and then she'd jolt herself awake, imagining that she'd been hit with a Tesla Cannon. That seemed to work, although she had to repeat the process every two hours or so.

And now ice was beginning to form on the nose of the _Glasgow Cross_.

"Blisters," she swore loudly. Not that it was as much fun. No one was around to hear her and be appropriately shocked.

She titled the nose of her plane up towards the sun, which was peeking through some of the clouds. After about half an hour, the thin layer of ice had melted.

"Barking cold," Deryn chattered, pulling her flight jacket around her more tightly. Even in the enclosed cockpit, she was still shivering.

**Hour Twenty-Six**

"This is Deryn Sharp to Paris, Deryn Sharp to Paris," came a crackled voice over the wireless.

Alek jolted up, and, along with several others, crowded around the receiver. He picked up his speaker to reply.

"This is Paris to Deryn Sharp," he cried, his voice brimming with relief. "What is your current location?"

"Somewhere near Cornwall," she replied after a few minutes.

Cheers erupted all around Alek. If she was near Cornwall, on the Southwest English coast, then she only had about five or six more hours of flying until she landed in Paris.

"Do you require any assistance?" asked Alek, hoping Deryn could hear the smile in his voice.

She did.

"Aye. I'm going to need all the help I can get… fending off barking reporters."

Alek smiled.

"Keep us informed then, Miss Sharp."

"Roger that."

**Hour Twenty-Nine**

She was flying over the channel. She stole a couple glimpses down at the dozens of boats filled with people, all waiting to watch her fly over. She tried to imagine their cheers.

It wasn't the best view she'd ever had. The windows of her plane were small, and she was constantly trying to keep them from fogging up. Somewhere before the Cornish coastline he had run into dense fog, and had had to fly almost blind through it.

She remembered the first time she'd flew over the Channel, in that old Huxley Ascender, swaying back and forth in the breeze, and cursing at the beastie every now and then. And when the _Leviathan_ had suddenly emerged from the clouds… Deryn could count that as one of her most perfect moments.

She felt her eyes drooping, and tried to jolt herself awake again. Thinking of the _Leviathan_ reminded her of the Tesla Cannon, but it also reminded her of… more pleasant things. Lying on the spine in the afternoon sun with Alek, for example.

"You ninny! Are you an airman or not?' she chastised, remembering how she'd gone days without sleep before. She'd gone more than two days without it in Istanbul, and she'd still managed to take down an entire kraken net.

"You're made of stronger stuff."

**Hour Thirty-One**

There she was, flying her tired—looking plane over the outskirts of Paris, waiting for clearance to land. Alek couldn't see her yet, but he could just imagine how she would look. Beautiful of course, but also tired and exhilarated.

"I told you she could do it!" he cried to Volger, who had hardly said a word for the last thirty—odd hours. It was a welcome change.

Deryn's plane landed lightly on the runway, and as soon as she'd brought it to a standstill, and shut off the engines and propeller, she leaped out of the plane. Dozens of reporters from all over the world rushed forward, pushing past the barriers erected on the airfield to keep them back. In the flashes and shouting that ensued, Alek lost sight of Deryn.

He walked forward with M. Orteig, who had travelled across the Atlantic via hydrogen breather a week ago. Alek wanted to run, and was getting dangerously annoyed at Orteig for his slow, steady pace.

"Excuse us," he called, pushing past the reporters, who parted as soon as they saw Orteig.

And then Alek saw her, and smiled. Relief washed over him, and now he felt so happy and proud. Deryn was standing in the middle of the crowd, looking tired (he'd never seen darker circles under her eyes), but absolutely radiant. She was practically glowing. She even looked a little dumfounded. She'd even impressed herself.

M. Orteig went up to her and shook her hand vigorously, and congratulated her a thousand times.

"There will be a ceremony tomorrow night at my _Chez Orteig_ hotel. Please join us there," he said, and then ducked out of the way.

Alek made his way up to her, and shook her hand warmly, his smile growing each minute. He was strongly tempted to sweep her up and kiss her chapped lips, but he decided to wait until there were no cameras about

* * *

><p><strong>Alek still doesn't like photographers. Old habits are hard to lose, I suppose. Thank you so, so much for the reviews and favorites on this story. Only one more chapter left! <strong>

**I am not Scott Westerfeld, and I do not own any of these characters.**


	8. Barking Impressive

"I can't believe I actually did it!" cried Deryn, leaning on Alek's arm as they walked towards the hanger, where Volger, Jaspert, and Mrs. Sharp were waiting.

"I can," said Alek.

Deryn laughed and punched him softly of the arm.

"That's my wee little sister!" cried Jaspert, rushing forward to hug Deryn.

"Aye, your 'wee little sister' just broke all the records anyone's cared to set!"

"Very impressive, Miss Sharp I must say. New York to Paris in just over thirty—one hours. I think you might actually deserve the praise this time," said Volger. Even he couldn't hold back _all_ of his enthusiasm.

Deryn heard the praise from Volger, and beamed even more. Everyone was absolutely swimming in their smiles. Alek was practically drowning.

"Well of course it's impressive! Haven't you learned that I don't do anything that isn't?"

"_Barking_ impressive," said Bovril, who had been curled in Alek's coat. Deryn hadn't noticed it before now.

"That's right, beastie," she said, extracting it from Alek's coat and placing him on her shoulder.

"I still can't believe you've taught that thing to swear," sighed her mother, but giving her daughter a hug.

Alek laughed.

"I have to agree with Bovril, Mrs. Sharp. I've never seen anything more barking impressive,"

**The End**

* * *

><p><strong>I can't believe it's all over! Well, I guess I can write that essay for AP Lit now... Anyway, thank you a million times for all the reviews, and I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!<strong>

_**Leviathan**_** (c) Scott Westerfeld.**


End file.
